


Dodge and Burn

by s_c_r_i_p_s_i



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, And a Professional Asshole, Danny Implied Narrator, Danny is still a murderer, M/M, Mention of exchanging sex for services; but it’s not capitalized on by Danny, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Photography teacher and Single dad! Danny, Student! Frank Morrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_c_r_i_p_s_i/pseuds/s_c_r_i_p_s_i
Summary: His score on Rate My Professor - which he was not unaware of - was not undeserved.Though he thought of his teaching method as less of being a hardass, and more refusing to take students’ shit....Of which Frank’s supply seemed never-ending.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Frank Morrison
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Dodge and Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fragile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragile/gifts).



> Thank you so much to my Mel (fragile) for commissioning this work!
> 
> Also thank you to my muse Pugge for allowing me to retool some of our ideas from one of our many Danny x OC roleplays for this! ily 🥺

There were few things more enjoyable to Danny than having the university darkroom all to himself, the only sounds in the world the hose quietly running in the water bath, golden oldies softly playing on the Bluetooth speakers, and the fond memories of _screams_ as he developed his latest masterpiece. A real tour de force if he did say so himself. 

The image was just starting to materialize; such a magical quality to printmaking- the waiting, the anticipation. The way the picture started to burn itself into the paper from seemingly nothing. 

Narrowing his eyes, he smirked down at the composition developing in the chemical bath beneath the dim amber light. A bit more political a statement than his usual fare - hardly the robin hood of murder was he. But it was deeply satisfying to see the elementary school principal’s severed head producing itself on the page nonetheless. 

Fish rots from the head, so they say. 

Shouldn’t have been diddling kids. 

He supposed there wasn’t much room for disdain. A predator is a predator is a predator. Even if he didn’t understand _that_ particular impulse, he wasn’t an echelon _above_ except perhaps in taste. And skill. And- you know what, okay, he was superior in every way. 

But he wasn’t a vigilante. His motivations were, as they _always_ were, purely selfish. And he’d scorch a safe path for his daughter even if it meant burning down everything around them.

The principal was simply convenient. Please his impulses and knock out a liability. Two birds, one... knife.

And all in all, not a bad way to spend a Friday night. 

Time to work on his _personal_ projects was laughably scarce, now. Constantly surrounded by the nostalgic smell of stop bath and fixer, and nary a thing to work on. Between the divorce, work, and the dreaded custody battles, there simply wasn’t time to pursue his… _hobbies,_ as it were.

Daddy needed some fucking _me_ time.

Using the classroom’s darkroom was not terribly convenient for this - on the surface, it might seem so, but it was terribly risky, and the danger was significantly less enjoyable than it used to be now that he’d fucked around and had a kid. Though not quite as risky as going digital and worrying about that particular footprint. 

Besides, there was just an _art_ to manual photography that was lost in the digital. There was a gratifying amount of _hands-on_ creative control. Tangibility. He was, at his core, a cerebral hedonist, after all. More importantly, the quality was just superior. Rich shadows. Luscious tones. Visual _butter._

The extent of his work demanded a large workspace. And he certainly wasn’t going to set up an at-home studio, not with those tiny wandering little hands groping around the whole place half the month. 

So he just employed a little caution. 

Apparently not enough.

Just as he was lifting the print to examine it and carry it over to the stop bath, he heard the door opening to the attached developing lab and froze.

_Shit._

Photography students had full, 24/7 access to the attached developing lab with their student ID - the schools’ policy, not his, and _admittedly_ sort of a necessity. Darkroom photography wasn’t like painting or drawing class. You couldn’t just finish your project at home if you didn’t complete it in time.

But he’d been careful. As careful as one _could_ be. He’d observed his students’ patterns for a _long_ time, routinely monitored the surveillance camera history… Hardly anyone actually took advantage of this privilege until it was really crunch time, and _rarely_ at 2 AM. 

So who the fuck…? 

Danny glanced at the clock on the wall he’d been using to time his chemical baths. _Fuck._ He’d just have to abandon it, he still had three more chemicals to go through and the safelight was slowly going to ruin it even in the stop bath. 

Sighing forcefully, he set everything down, tongs tinking against the counter, and made towards the hallway to find which of his knuckleheaded students inadvertently fucked up his print, already digging a thumb into the wrist of his gloves to take them off and blindly tossing them in the garbage on his way out. 

No sooner than he’d turned the corner, did said knuckleheaded student nearly crash right into him. 

“...You didn’t say ‘corner.’” His voice came out dark and smooth before he’d even identified them, easily slipping into that headspace with the knowledge that he _may_ have to kill them. 

It was common courtesy to announce yourself when entering the darkroom from the film developing lab - the corridor narrow and double-winding to block out all the light from the latter - lest you bump into anyone coming from the other direction; especially in the event that someone was holding a tray of wet prints. 

The kid nearly shat their pants, stumbling backward with a series of colorful expletives - and that’s when Danny ID’d him. 

Ah. His _favorite_ knuckleheaded student. Frank Morrison.

That was a problem.

Danny was nearly as shocked as _him_ once he realized - though he’d like to think he was considerably better at concealing it. 

Frank was the _last_ person he’d expect to be putting in any more hours than he had to. He wasn’t even scraping the bare minimum with his shitty attendance. And Danny knew the type - it was just an elective to him, so why bother? Terrible work, too - zero effort. Almost like he was embarrassed to even try. 

It was clear he has some _issues._ Trouble expressing himself. Was bound to make any art class difficult for him. During critiques, he just shut down. All shrugs and shoulders up to his ears until someone set him off. 

Which was fun, to watch, truly. Really broke the monotony of Danny’s day. When he actually showed up to class, that is. 

It was the _snap_ he enjoyed most, watching the tension escalate until Frank finally pulled his head out of his ass - stopped being self-conscious, and started biting _back._

“I didn’t think anyone was _here.”_

“Neither did I.”

There was a beat, pregnant with tension that Danny could only hope read as an appropriate level of awkwardness for the situation, and not the reality, which was that he was _slightly_ panicked. 

Which seemed like a little bit of an overreaction. He didn’t really enjoy casualty kills, but there was no reason to be so alarmed. 

Perhaps he liked Frank a little more than he previously thought. 

One thing was clear. He could _not_ go in there. 

Well, he could, but then he’d have to die and that would be a shame. Maybe not on a global scale. But he was entertaining to _Danny._ He might actually notice the loss. 

He could certainly overpower Frank. Physically. He was hardly more than a teenager. But at that point, he may as well kill him, because that would be suspicious as hell. The gears were turning, turning…

“...Okay, well.” 

Frank tried to push by, muttering something along the lines of ‘fucking weirdo.’ 

Well. That wouldn’t do. 

Danny thrust an arm out in front of him, planting his hand in the wall. _Subtle._

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to work on some shit for class, the fuck does it look like?” 

As usual, zero regard for the fact that Danny was his teacher. It was kinda cute. Add ‘problems with authority’ to the running list. 

“Well,” Danny said, “That’s too damn bad. I’m working on a personal project in there.” 

“...And?” Frank scoffed. “There’s like six of those things in there.”

 _“And_ I’m using all of them,” He lied. “It’s a large project; also they’re called enlargers, Frank. Honestly, have you learned anything from this class?” Danny said, moving right along in the same breath. 

He could already tell this angle wasn’t working. If Frank was still fixated on the goddamn darkroom during his inevitable blow up, he’d just try to shove by. And Danny _really_ didn’t want to have to get rough. Oh, it might have been fun on _some_ level, but it wasn’t worth the suspicion it would arouse. 

Danny was going to have to distract him. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank huffed in disbelief, looking around as if to say ‘are you seeing this shit?’ to their nonexistent audience. Which was illuminating in one form or another. It’s obvious he was used to his antics getting a _reaction._ So, Danny would be sure to strip him of the satisfaction. 

“You said I’d have to make up my absences in additional hours. That’s what I’m trying to do. And you’re not going to _let_ me-?”

“Yes,” Danny interrupted. “I did. I _also_ said they’d have to be signed and supervised, and your failure to loop me in and instead showing up in the dead of night means that they’d be neither - so what’s the truth?” 

His score on Rate My Professor - which he was _not_ unaware of - was not undeserved. Though he thought of his teaching method as less of being a hardass, and more refusing to take students’ shit. Of which Frank’s supply seemed never-ending. 

There was a pause, Danny figured Frank was trying to decide how honest to be. Calculating how to get his way. 

Brat.

“...I wanted to practice alone, okay? _Fuck!”_

Oh. Oh no, that was adorable. He didn’t want people to watch him make mistakes. _Precious._

“Just let me-...” Frank started moving again, trying to push past the cage of Danny’s arm. 

“Cute when you’re mad,” Danny said quickly. It was a gut reaction, not one well calculated. Haphazardly throwing things at the wall to see what stuck.

He really didn’t want to have to kill him. 

And it did have the intended result. Frank stopped right in his tracks. “...What?” 

“Cute when you’re confused, too…” Danny mused. Oh, he was so wonderfully emotive. How far could he push this? 

Frank had yet to respond, clearly still _grappling_ with the concept; it looked like he _wanted_ to be mad but was frozen with analysis paralysis. Maybe he was doing the same as Danny. Trying to figure out how to use this for his gain. 

“Oh, I’m not letting you in there.” He informed him. “But you _did_ come all this way. I suppose that counts for something.” Danny pressed two fingers into the boy’s chest, walking him backwards towards the developing lab. Maybe confusing him was enough. Get him all turned around, make him forget what he was so angry about. 

“Oh well,” Danny sighed, trying to get him on his way. “E for effort.”

“Stop.” Frank dug his heels in suddenly, grabbing his wrist. “C’mon. I need to pass this class.” He was looking at him so _seriously_ now.

“Let me guess, you’ll do anything?”

It was meant as a joke - one in terrible taste - but the silence said everything. 

Danny watched him for a moment, before heaving a big sigh. “Oh, _Frank.”_ His voice was steeped in condescension. “Do you do this often? Is that how you get all your little… dime store tattoos?” 

If he sounded inconvenienced, it’s because he was. He was, _unfortunately,_ considering it. Only because he had _eyes,_ had seen how the kid looks at him. Frank was anything but subtle. A sure promise that it would be _good,_ not just some insultingly sloppy, subpar, dead-eyed transaction. 

Tempting, tempting.

However, just so that there were no misunderstandings….

“You can do whatever you _want,_ but that doesn’t mean you’re getting in.” There. The ball was in his court. “I can take a break. _Or_ we can forget this ever happened. Up to you.” 

And he waited. Pulled back his hand, letting it sit on his hip. 

Frank took a little too long to answer for his tastes. Disappointing, but not unexpected. That was fine. He could make an executive decision. 

“Alright. Get a move on, then. You can come back in the morning.” 

“Fuck you,” hit bit out. “Hold _on._ I’m thinking.” 

“Not necessary, I assure you,” Danny snorted faintly. “Look- just forget it. Don’t bust any precious brain cells over it, I’m not sure you have many to-” 

Spare.

But Frank grabbed him up by his shirt before he could finish the sentence, and the next thing Danny knew he was being dragged down for what most people would call a kiss. In reality, it was more of a… mouth battle, a ploy for dominance. This wasn’t going how Frank thought it would, and now he was _desperate._

Cute. In a chihuahua squaring up on a wolf kind of way. 

Danny was buzzing to his fingertips with absolute delight. When they finally pulled apart, he huffed, impressed as he thumbed what felt like a split on his lip. Frank was looking at him like he expected him to yield. _Adorable._ No, that wasn’t going to happen. Excitement was already gnawing at his stomach. 

“Why don’t you tell me more,” Danny challenged, eyes flicking up to Frank’s. 

A grunt escaped the pit of his throat as he was pushed up against the wall and assaulted again, a grin twitching at his lips. 

Not a bad way to spend a Friday night at _all._

###### 

Thank you for reading!!! 🖤

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